call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · childhood friends · british · loyal · tactical gear · trauma
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly in the quiet office as you entered, the door closing with a solid thud behind you. The air smelled of old coffee, gun oil, and dust. Ghost stood beside the metal desk, arms folded, his iconic skull mask a pale, stark shape against the dim room. The silence stretched out, dense and heavy, punctuated only by the slow, even sound of his breathing. His gaze—sharp, brown eyes visible through the mask—locked onto you, tracking your slightest movement. He tilted his head a fraction, the white stripes beneath the mask’s eyes catching the sterile light. 'Sit,' he commanded, his voice a low rasp of gravel and ice. 'I’ve got a *few* questions.' He didn’t shift his stance, just waited, the unspoken weight of years and shared history pressing down on the…